Wanted: You, Forever (A Carlsme Christmas Tale)
by ladylibre
Summary: Lonely doctor. Lovely waitress. Both longing for more and afraid to take it. Will they summon the courage to reach out for their Christmas miracle?
1. Chapter 1: A Well-Placed Ad

**Disclaimer: Everything Twilight belongs to Madame Meyer. But this plot? All mine!**

**Thanks to the lovely ladies who put together "What's in Santa's Sack?", this Carlsme story came to mind. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but Carlisle wouldn't cooperate. I can't promise how often I'll post, but I hope to wrap it up by New Year's Eve.**

**For those reading my other stories, I haven't forgotten you. I've spent most of the past week in the hospital with mysterious numbness/tingling in my body, first on my entire left side now spreading to the right. They're running tests, looking for answers. I claim healing already, just waiting for my body to catch up. So if you are inclined, pray for my healing and total recovery, thanks!**

**I aim to update ALWD and TPE in the next two weeks, assuming my fingers cooperate; I wrote 3k's worth of "Wanted" before the numbness began.**

**Anyhoo I rather like this pairing, so I hope you enjoy it!**

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**WANTED: YOU, FOREVER**

**A Carlsme Christmas Story**

**Chapter 1: A Well-Placed Ad**

**Carlisle's POV**

The snow falls gently outside the hospital window, preparing us for the white Christmas of dreams.

I have completed my evening rounds: soothed the patients I could, adjusted treatment dosages, even checked for monsters under three beds in pediatrics. I seldom take the holidays off, allowing those with families and commitments to enjoy them. But my boss declared last night that unless there is a legitimate life-or-death emergency, she better not see me again until December 26th at the earliest.

"Don't make me get ugly," Jane said, piercing me with her blue-eyed glare. Though she barely reaches my shoulder in those walking death-traps she calls shoes, the prospect of her wrath is frightening enough to keep me away.

Proceeding to my office, I remove my stethoscope from my neck and place it in my bag. Checking its contents twice per my custom, I retrieve my overcoat from its hook. I am shrugging myself into it when Kate enters the room. She is my office-mate and closest friend here. We long ago considered the possibility of more, but the idea of such intimacy gave us an unshakeable case of the willies.

The experts are mistaken: some men and women can—and should—be "just friends."

"My eyes must be playing tricks on me." She walks to her desk on the other side of the room. "There is no way Dr. Carlisle Cullen is leaving on Christmas Eve-Eve before the evening news is over."

I beam at her. "It's a Christmas miracle."

"Nah, it's Jane putting her tiny little foot down," she chuckles. "And I'm happy for you. It's high time you set your feet on non-linoleum land for a while."

I set my gloves on the bench beside the bag. "You and Jane spend too much time monitoring my life."

"What life?" Her words are kind with a twist of sympathy. "You spend every waking hour in these hollowed hallways, and God knows we appreciate your dedication." Her hand comes to rest on my shoulder from behind, squeezing gently. "But that's not a life."

A breezy retort bubbles on my tongue, but I cannot give it voice. She unwittingly echoes a conversation I have with myself on a regular basis, one usually ending with a sad sigh and reminder of my promise.

_Not until she's free._

"My brother's in town; did I tell you that?" I stuff my hands into my pocket. "He's been staying with me for two weeks."

"You did, but you didn't have to." She shoves me playfully, then I hear her file cabinet open. "Every able-bodied female on staff has both eyes on him."

I snort to myself. This is not an uncommon occurrence. "When did they see him?"

"Some of the nurses saw you together last week at the diner."

My lips curve into an immediate smile on her last word, and I am grateful she cannot see it.

"So uh… any chance he might be on the market?" I turn and cock an eyebrow at her, and she shakes her head, laughing. "Garrett is all the man I need, thank you. But my sister Tanya…."

"Ah." I shiver inside, thinking of the first and thank-the-good-Lord only time I met her. That woman should come with a warning label: Handsy, shameless, no verbal filter. "Sorry but Edward is happily married to Isabella and here only because she insisted he visit before the baby arrives in February."

"Guess we won't be in-laws after all."

"There are worse things." I check my pockets one last time, making sure I have enough change. "As I am forbidden to see you until afterwards, have a beautiful Christmas, Kate."

"You too, Doc. And hey." I turn to find her holding out a small wrapped package. "Don't let this go to waste."

I sigh and shake my head as she thrusts the box into my hands. We have had a "no presents" policy in place for years. "You're in violation."

"So sue me. After you use it."

My brows knit together as I wonder at the weightless gift, widening her grin. "You're kinda cute when you're confused. You should work that angle more often."

"Work that…" I roll my eyes as she falls into a laughing fit. "You're impossible."

"Yeah, yeah." She shoves me out the door, locking me out. "Now go before I call Jane."

The threat reaches its mark, and I hustle to my car before she can make good on it. There are many well-wishes and curious glances at the package in my hand, and I set it carefully inside my bag once I am in the car. I turn on the heater and let the engine warm up, making sure I have my keys before returning to the hospital's rear entrance.

I am late today, later than I have been in weeks, and I can only hope not to be punished. As I approach the box, I see the pale gray parchment staring back at me, and it is all I can do not to whoop with joy. Dropping the three quarters into the slot, I wait for the click and pull down the door, retrieving the final copy of the _Seattle Times._

Tucking the paper gingerly into the opening in my coat, I set it on the passenger seat before pulling out of the lot. I drive several blocks, making a few random turns before resting a secluded space in a smaller, non-descript lot. I cut the engine and turn on the dome light, cradling the _Times _as if a baby in a bassinet.

My heart races in my chest as I unfold the paper, quickly dispensing with the news, sports, and entertainment sections. The business section I set aside for Edward, the health section for my future perusal. I swallow hard as my destination comes into view.

Classifieds.

I turn to the fifth page, ignoring everything else until I come to the "Missed Connections" column. Taking a deep breath, my eyes slowly scan the notes, belaboring the point so as not to miss anything.

Then, fourth down from the title, I see it.

"_Closing alone tonight. If you were pocket-sized; I would take you with me everywhere. You make me brave. ~ Angel's Wings." _

My head falls back to rest on the seat, blood roaring in my ears.

She will be alone tonight.

Fewer questions, fewer eyes.

More time.

Anticipation curls low in my belly, and I curse myself for not getting the paper at the start of my shift. Had I done that, I would planned differently, told Jane I would stay until 10:00. Then I could have gone straight there, straight to _her_, instead of scrambling for a way to idle away the next few hours.

No matter. The night can be salvaged. I shall go home, freshen up, get myself together.

Summon the courage to say what I need to say.

Putting the car back in drive, I back out of the lonely lot and proceed, images of a heavenly face floating around me like celestial, crystalline dust.

**What do you think? I've never written Carlsme before, so I'm a bit nervous.**

**The next chapter is written… look for it in a few days. And "What's in Santa's Sack?" is in my favorites. Enjoy! xoox**


	2. Chapter 2: Decking the Halls

**Disclaimer: Everything Twilight belongs to Madame Meyer. But this plot? All mine!**

**I am THRILLED by your response to this story! And profoundly touched by your concerns for my health. Still looking for answers, but I know I am well!**

**Let's see what awaits Carlisle at home…**

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**WANTED: YOU, FOREVER**

**A Carlsme Christmas Story**

**Chapter 2: Decking the Halls**

**Carlisle's POV**

When I pull up to my condo on the north side of town, I am amused but not surprised to see new lights outside my living room window.

Colorful, blinking lights to be exact.

"Merry Christmas, Dr. Cullen!" Alice chirps as she balances atop a suspiciously slender ladder on the front lawn. "I'm almost done."

I step onto the sidewalk and set down my bag to hold the ladder. "Does Jasper know you're out here?"

"Yes!" She stretches to loop what I hope is the final strand on a hook in the upper-right corner of my window. "And he says as long as I have your permission, it's fine."

"Shouldn't you have a spotter?"

"Yeah, the Clearwater kid was helping me, but he got cold and went in the house a half hour ago," she snorts. "Modern kids have no appreciation for what's important."

She descends the ladder and jumps down from the second-to-last step, placing her hands on her hips. "Well, what do you think, Doc?"

Her lighting display is both festive and elegant, and I find myself grinning before I can stop it. "I think you missed your calling as one of Santa's elves."

"Thanks, Doc!" She raises her hand, and I slap her five before heading in. "Oh, and tell Edward I'm sorry if I scared him."

I nod without understanding and proceed to my place. Unlike the many high rises populating this area, my apartment resides in a converted mansion with two other units. The Whitlocks, Alice and Jasper, live on the third floor, and The Clearwaters—Harry, Sue, Leah, and Seth—occupy the second. The first floor is mine alone, and the basement is divided into three storage units.

Though I live alone, my friendly neighbors keep me from being too lonely, inviting me up for game nights, lively discussions, and other such merriment. I enjoy their company, appreciate their consideration, but of late have longed for more. More laughter, more light.

More love.

I turn the key in the lock, jingling it intentionally. "Honey, I'm home."

Edward raises his head from the heavy volume he's reading. "That Alice person is crazy."

"Yes, she is." I hang my coat on the hook by the door. "And she apologizes again for scaring you."

He laughs, running a hand through his untamable hair. "She ought to. I nearly peed my pants when she appeared at the window."

"I would have liked to see that." Edward rolls his eyes, and I proceed to the refrigerator. "Are we ordering in tonight? There is nothing here worth attempting."

Edward hasn't answered by the time I close the refrigerator door, and when I turn around, I find him leaning on the center island, wiggling his eyebrows with a cheeky grin.

"That might work on Isabella, brother." I swipe some errant crumbs from the counter into my hand. "But it will have no effect on me."

He is undeterred. "I would have thought you were dining out tonight."

I try to keep my voice neutral. "And why would you think that?"

"Because a certain diner offers a certain specialty item that is, shall we say, uniquely qualified to satisfy your appetite."

"Obviously not." I walk out of the kitchen, down the hall to my bedroom, and he follows, hard on my heels. "Am I to have no privacy while you're here?"

Edward flops in the wingback in the corner of my room, enjoying himself. "So you aren't going to the diner tonight?"

"Is that your choice for dinner?" I remove my jacket and tie, keeping my back to him. "We could certainly go there if you like."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, man! It's me."

"I am quite aware of that."

"So why can't you be honest?" Edward cries. "Why not just admit you're in love with her?"

"I'm not…" My voice is too high to be believed, so I take a deep breath, swallowing my heart's cry. "She is married, Edward."

"To a hard-hearted, heavy-handed beast who barely qualifies as human. A monster who thinks his financial success gives him the right to treat his bride like chattel." His tone is serious, unflinching. "Surely you do not believe her happy with him?"

"I know she is…" I shut my eyes, refusing to betray her confidence even to him. "It is a question not of happiness but propriety. She is his wife, and I am…"

"What?" I feel him press upon me as he crosses the room, his green eyes seeing all. "What are you, Carlisle?"

The words rise from my breast, shoving their way past every consideration rendering them inappropriate, and I part my lips to finally give them voice. But though I know they are safe with him, the keeper of my deepest secrets and first lover of my soul, I cannot tell him what _she_ does not yet know.

What I plan to tell her tonight.

"I am filthy and in need of a shower," I reply at length. He tries in earnest to hide his disappointment, and I lay a hand on his shoulder. "Order what you will from wherever you choose. I have no appetite tonight."

He nods and looks down before pulling me into a hug. I feel his chin moving against my neck and shoulder, but his words fail to reach my ears. He releases me with a small smile and heads toward the front room.

I sink down on my bed, holding my head in my hands. I know what he wants from me, _for_ me, how my solitude vexes and pains him. I know that though his desire for my happiness is considerable, it pales to what I crave for myself.

But it is impossible to hope, unthinkable to covet she who belongs to another.

_Yet I burn. _

Shaking off the thought, I enter the bathroom, eager for the scalding water to soothe my body and soul. Closing the standing stall door behind me, I rest my forehead on my forearm, memories filling my mind like so many ribbons of steam.

—W.Y.F.—

The diner had not been my first choice of venue. Or second. Or ninth. It was out of the way, usually crowded, and not worth the trouble with a Starbucks or equivalent on every other corner.

But I had just come from a consult at a clinic across town and couldn't stop shivering. Spring had yet to make its appearance, ignoring April's arrival, so the diner would have to do.

I do not recall a single thing about the décor, the ambience, or the menu. If pressed, I couldn't even confirm I'd paid the coffee I'd come in there for.

All I could see, all I knew was her.

Though my mind missed nothing, she seemed to invade my consciousness in pieces, varied vignettes of loveliness.

Caramel hair... blue eyes… rosy lips… the glory of God.

My body moved without my permission, and I found myself sliding onto a stool, drinking her in. She was at the other end of the counter, taking the order of a sandy-haired gentleman, and I was seized by a wallop of envy, wishing he would disappear and release her to me.

Startled, I decided caffeine would not help me and prepared to make my exit.

"I'll be there in a second," a melodious voice called out from the far end of the restaurant. How I heard it above the din of the diners, I will never know.

But from the moment we locked eyes, I knew I would never ignore another word from her luscious mouth. And from the blush spreading across her cheeks, I wondered if she felt the same.

She barely glanced at her customer again before making her way toward me, her soft azure gaze holding me captive. When she landed in front of me, the air seemed to crackle between us, neither of us willing to speak and disturb it. She took a step backward, reaching behind her for the coffee pot, and plucked a cup and saucer from the shelf.

She poured, a small smile about her lips, and did not look away until I brought the fragrant mug to my lips. I closed my eyes, freezing her image in my mind, and took a careful sip.

Bliss.

I opened my eyes to find hers smiling. "This is heaven."

"It's just coffee."

"I know heaven when I taste it."

She cocked an eyebrow. "And how's that?"

"Because it arrives on angel's wings."

She tried not to roll her eyes and failed, though the corners of her mouth showed no disappointment. "May I safely assume you're not a poet?"

I laughed, feeling like a schoolboy. "No, I'm a doctor."

Some unreadable expression crossed her face, and she dropped her eyes to the counter between us. "Do you enjoy your work?"

"I do." She wouldn't look up, and I couldn't bear the deprivation of her sweet countenance. "Though I would have liked to be a rodeo clown."

It worked. Her gaze and expression lifted, filling me to overflowing. "A rodeo clown?"

Our conversation ebbed and flowed around other customers, and one cup of coffee turned into three. My bladder protested with every additional sip, but I was undaunted, unable to leave her side. No matter the cost to my internal plumbing.

But were I honest, there was another reason for my persistence, a blip on my radar demanding attention.

The gleaming gold band adorning her left hand.

I noticed it immediately, stared for a moment to disprove its existence. We talked about everything under the sun, and I asked several open-ended questions, to which her replies could have—and should have—included her husband.

But she mentioned him not. Not even a hint.

When I finally tore myself from her presence at the urgent insistence of my body, I wondered at her for the rest of the day.

And all night long.

There was no sleep to be had, no meals or other diversions to distract me. I was consumed with her—beyond the carnal cries of my monkish existence—aching to know the mysteries of her mind.

Why was she married but disinclined to mention her husband? Why did she spend twenty-seven minutes serving me mediocre coffee with a smile as bright as a sunlit sky? Why was someone so luminous slaving away nine hours per day, six days per week at a greasy diner in a forgettable part of town?

Moreover, why did her face fall when I mentioned my vocation? An honorable, respectable one at that?

Eight long days later, I had my answer.

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**Hmmm... wonder what this means? Find out in a few days ;)**


	3. Chapter 3: Surprise Visit

**Disclaimer: Everything Twilight belongs to Madame Meyer. But this plot? All mine!**

**You guys are the best! I'd blow kisses, but I have the flu and don't want you getting my germs ;)**

**Now let's see what happened eight days later...**

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**WANTED: YOU, FOREVER**

**A Carlsme Christmas Story**

**Chapter 3: Surprise Visit**

**Carlisle's POV**

I was in the ER, filling in for a colleague whose wife had gone into early labor. It had been quiet at first, with few serious injuries. Then a local school dance ended in panic when the lights went out and the sprinkler system was activated, and the ER was flooded with students, staff, and parents alike, all looking for answers.

I had just finished stitching up a young man who bumped his head on the DJ table during the stampede out of the gymnasium when I heard it.

The angelic voice I knew as well as my own.

"Rose, this is unnecessary. I'm fine."

I stopped mid-step, taking a deep breath as I whirled around. As if the crowded parted at my heart's insistence, there she was.

_Will wonders never cease?_

My breath caught in my throat, rendering me blind, deaf, and altogether dumb. Yet impatiently mobile as I crossed the crowded corridor to reach her.

After an eight-day absence, her innate loveliness seemed more potent, as if she were shrouded in divine light. She was in her work uniform, and as without the obtrusive lunch counter between us, I was gifted with my first view of her shapely legs.

But as I drew closer, my elation to see her was eclipsed by rage.

Rolling, consuming rage.

My clinical eye noted every unnatural physical difference: how she favored her left side as she hobbled toward the desk accompanied by the identically-dressed Rose. The trembling in her hand as she reached for the clipboard, grazing it a half-second after Rose tucked it under her arm.

And the unsightly swelling on her right cheek, its damning, darkening implications now visible as she sank into the chair beside her friend.

I ducked into an empty exam room, pressing a hand above my heart to steady its erratic rhythm. It would not do for her to see me this way. But the sight of her situation filled me with inhuman instincts I could hardly contain.

I wanted to find him, whomever he was. I wanted to find him and grab him and kill him, to tear his body asunder, pausing between limbs to beat him with them. I wanted him to hurt, to wail, to beg for a mercy he did not deserve before ridding this earth of his useless hide.

But beyond the restraints of my occupational ethics, I was not a violent man. Killing that monster would in no way erase the scars on my angel's delicate heart and would serve only to sink me to his subhuman level. Most importantly, _she_ needed no more anger in her life, no version of vengeance this mere mortal could give.

She needed calm, compassion, comfort. Laughter not lashes, tenderness not torture.

And by God, she would get it.

Expelling a heavy breath, I forced myself into professional politeness and peeked around the corner. She was still seated beside Rose, and as I knew neither surname, there was no way to secure her as a patient.

Unless she chose me first.

Stepping into the waiting area, I beelined for a group of parents on the opposite side of the room. Their cries of "Doctor, any news?" and "How's my daughter?" caught her attention, and I heard her gasp as I passed a few feet in front of her.

"I can hardly believe it." Her sigh was a song in my heart. "It's him."

"Who?" Rose replied.

_Her _response was lost as I reached the crowd, but it hardly mattered.

She knew I was here.

And if she wanted me, she would reach out.

_Please, God. Let her reach out._

As the parents dispersed to update loved ones or see their children as the case might be, I was heading to the registration desk when someone tapped me on the shoulder. "Excuse me, doctor?"

I turned to find a pair of sharp, violet eyes assessing me. "Yes?"

"My friend needs some assistance." The words were a command, and I liked her immediately.

"Surely." I tried to keep the tremble from my voice. "Where is he?"

"_She_ is over th…" She turned around and found the chair empty, the clipboard abandoned. "Dammit! Esme?" She raised her head and voice. "Esme?"

My eyes were faster, having memorized her face eight days prior, and I found my angel hobbling through the throng toward the exit. I did not call her name for fear of embarrassing her, but never had I walked so quickly. Or with so much to lose if I faltered.

"Esme." I laid a gentle hand on her right shoulder, and she stilled immediately. "Please."

"Let me go."

"I won't hurt you. I just…"

"Please." Tears I couldn't see rattled her voice. "I… I cannot bear you to see me this way."

"What, in your uniform? I'm afraid that ship has sailed, though the orthopedic shoes are a surprise." I tsked. "I pegged you as a Mary Jane girl."

She snorted. "I'd like to see you after four hours on your feet in those things."

"Well, if you stay." I removed my hand from her shoulder. "You might get the chance. I'm a loafers man myself, but I will try anything once."

She laughed, a puff of light air, then sobriety returned with a slump of her shoulders. "I cannot talk about it."

"All right."

"And if you ask me anything beyond what is needed for a basic examination, I will not reply."

"Fair enough."

"And you have to promise never to return to the diner."

I parted my lips to agree then slammed them shut.

_Anything but that._

"Did you hear me?" She turned around, meeting my eyes in challenge. "If I let you examine me, then you…"

"I heard you."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Well?"

"I do not wish to break my first promise to you." The words tumbled out before I could censor them. "Especially one so impossible to keep. So please, ask me something else."

Though her eyes widened, she took a step forward. "What do you mean by…"

"There you are! I lost you in the crowd." Rose's furtive glance my way suggested otherwise, but I retreated as she approached Esme. "What the hell were you doing? Were you going to leave without getting seen?"

"No." She sounded petulant, and I watched her steel herself. "Actually, I was in the middle of negotiating with… well, with…"

"Allow me to properly introduce myself to your friend." _And to you. _ "Dr. Carlisle Cullen."

As Rosalie replied with her full name and a handshake, Esme mouthed my name soundlessly, her beautiful lips trying it out. The sight pleased me beyond articulation, and I felt myself smiling without shame.

"Well, Dr. Cullen." Rosalie's voice snapped me back to attention. "What sort of negotiating were you…"

"You can go, Rose, thank you." Esme said.

"Go?" Rosalie whipped her head around. "Go where?"

"Back to work. I'm sure Emmett needs you there, and…"

"Emmett needs me to do whatever I think is best, and getting you here was best."

"Yes, you got me here as promised. Now you can return to work, and I'll take a cab home."

"Not this again," Rosalie muttered. "Esme, you think I'm going to let you go home after this? That Emmett would let me let you do that?"

I felt things were getting too personal, and if I stuck around, Esme might bolt. "Maybe I should just…"

Rosalie held up a hand to stop and silence me, never taking her eyes off Esme. "I am _thisclose_ to telling Emmett to pay your husband a visit."

"Please, don't." Esme's eyes flitted to mine. "That's the last thing I want."

"Well the last thing I want is to someday find you in a state Dr. Cullen cannot fix."

Rose's words sent an icy shiver down the center of my spine, effectively halting their exchange. Esme looked down, and Rosalie looked at me, her appraising eyes invading my privacy. Unsure of what to expect, she gave me a curt nod then handed me the clipboard with its completed forms before enveloping Esme in a hug.

"Oh, honey," Rosalie murmured as Esme buried her face in the crook of her neck. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to make things harder." Esme shook her head but did not reply. "I'll call Emmett, but only so he knows we're okay. And when we're done, I'll take you anywhere you want. My house, your house, or a swanky suite in Vegas if you say so."

Esme pulled back and smiled, swiping tears. "Wasn't your bachelorette party enough?"

"Enough? Please. If Leah and Angela hadn't gotten us tossed out of the Grand, we would have really gotten crazy."

"I'll just take these over there," I said, earning a smile from both ladies. "Shouldn't be too long a wait now."

"Thank you," Rose replied.

"Yes, thank you, Dr. Cullen," Esme repeated. "And um… I rescind my third condition."

"Your third condition?"

"Yes." She met my eyes then, hers blazing with feeling. "I would not wish you to break something so precious."

Her meaning hit me square in the heart, and it was only the watchful eye of Rosalie McCarty that kept my response at a chaste nod. "I will see you in a bit."

I turned away before my face caught fire and left her chart with the triage nurse. After ensuring she was assigned to my caseload, I ducked into a staff restroom and locked the door. Running a shaky hand down my face, I caught my reflection in the mirror and told us the truth.

"We are in trouble."

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**Some of you guessed Esme would show up at the hospital. What did you think of their meeting? What do you think will happen next? Assuming this flu gets off my back, you'll find out in a few days!**

**ps – ALWD readers, look for the next chapter in the next week or so. Thanks for your patience! xoox**


	4. Chapter 4: Cross Examination

**Disclaimer: Everything Twilight belongs to Madame Meyer. But this plot? All mine!**

**Longest chapter yet... I hope you love it! xoxo**

* * *

**WANTED: YOU, FOREVER**

**A Carlsme Christmas Story**

**Chapter 4: Cross Examination**

**Carlisle's POV**

I took my time before heading to see Esme, needing to clear the inappropriate glee from my face. Though incensed by the reasons behind her appearance in the ER, it was impossible to be anything but joyful in her presence.

And that would not do for the task at hand.

I accepted her conditions for the exam, but how could I possibly adhere to them? Any answer she gave, no matter how circumspect, would only invite more questions, questions only marginally motivated by professional concern. I'd spent a total of thirty-nine minutes in her presence on two occasions in the past eight days, and I was already well beyond my initial intentions.

Intentions toward a married woman.

I needed to leave her alone, refer her to another doctor, and never return to the diner again.

The notion seized my heart with a lethal dose of panic, and I fell against the bathroom wall, gasping for breath.

_Guess that settles that._

When I arrived at her room, the nurse was checking her vitals. The signs were good, a testament to her strength, but the bruise on her cheek arrested my attention and rekindled the anger I'd just suppressed.

I turned my head and felt her eyes boring into the side of my face. She was yet afraid, and I had sworn to be the antidote. Stuffing down my feelings, I greeted the nurse with a smile.

"Thank you, Jacob. I can take it from here."

"You got it, Doc." He handed me her chart, and in his deep brown eyes I saw a replica of my convoluted feelings. Jake was a gentle soul despite his size and abhorred violence and the men who caused it. Fate had assigned him to Esme's case, and a better choice could not have been made.

I clapped his shoulder, meeting his eyes with a meaningful nod, and he took his leave.

Leaving me alone with Esme.

By now I knew her legal name. But as her husband had no respect for their marriage, I felt little obligation in that regard.

"Ms. Platt." She smiled at my choice, and my breath caught in my throat. "How are we this evening?"

"We? Did you also have aspirations for the British throne?"

"Why, yes." I set her chart atop the supply cart then washed my hands. "After becoming an internationally-renown rodeo clown, the royal house of Windsor was my next logical stop."

"Naturally." Her eyes fell to my hands as I dried them, and we felt the shift together.

It was time to begin the examination.

"I should have liked to be a queen," she said with a haughty accent. "Queen of Columbus, Ohio."

I leaned against the counter. "Is there a current ruling class?"

"Yes. A wicked shrew of a woman with a halitosis-addled spouse and a slew of incompetent relatives."

"Sounds like a coup is in order. Are you up for the challenge?"

"Indeed. I can be quite rebellious when inclined."

"Is that how this happened?"

The air around us chilled and stilled, and I shut my eyes, fully aware of what I had done. Pleasantries were nice, a soothing balm to my parched soul, but I had a job to do. And to do it effectively, we had to get to it and get past it.

Whatever it was.

I heard the change in her breathing and waited, refusing to break the silence. She would make her next decision without my interference or prompting.

I could only hope she decided not to banish me from her kingdom.

"You promised not to say such things," she whispered at length.

I sighed, approaching the exam bed slowly. "I promised not to be superfluous. But the cause of your injuries is pertinent to my ability to treat you."

"I can't…"

"Ms. Platt." I reached for her hand then pulled back before she noticed. "I want to help you, not judge."

She huffed. "It is impossible not to do both."

"What about Rosalie? She seems to walk that line."

"To my face, yes. But what do you think she says to Emmett when I'm not around? 'Aw, poor, stupid Esme. Letting that man do whatever he wants because she's too afraid to face the truth.' The thought of her pity makes me sick."

I came closer, folding my hands in front of me. "Are you stupid?"

"What? No."

"Are you afraid?"

Less conviction. "No."

"Does Rosalie know you better than you know yourself?"

"No."

"Is she the type to pity anyone?"

"No."

"Then don't assume she thinks badly of you."

"You're right. I'm sorry." She turned her head. "God, Es! Why do you have to be such a bitch all the time?"

Her sharp words slapped me across the face, and I flinched too late. "Ms. Platt. Please do not speak of yourself that way."

"Why not? It's true."

"That couldn't be so." I squeezed my entwined hands to keep from touching her. "Wherever would you get the idea that…"

Stormy blue eyes met mine, leveling me with the truth.

And a glimpse at the wounds my eyes couldn't see.

"Listen to me very carefully." I rested my hand on her right shoulder, noting how she relaxed. "Do not let his poison define you. You are far too incredible for that."

"You don't know me."

"Not yet. But I am a doctor, and that makes me right about everything."

She smiled suddenly, the sun breaking through the clouds. "Is that why they give you the long white coat?"

"Don't forget the stethoscope. It's handcrafted by Oxford graduates." My hands were on her left side, pressing gently. "Now tell me if this hurts."

She winced at the first spot, blowing out a slow breath. "I'm fine."

"Esme…"

She clamped her lips shut and nodded.

"Thank you. What about here?"

I poked and prodded as carefully as I could, barely containing my anger as she moved and moaned. This was not how I wanted to touch her, not the introduction to her body I had planned.

Not that I had planned anything.

"Nothing feels broken," I finally said. "But I'll order an x-ray just to be sure."

She shoved my hands away. "I can't allow you to do that."

"Ms. Platt."

"No, Dr. Cullen. I can't…" She pressed her hand to her forehead, pursing her lips. "The visit will do enough."

"What did you say?"

She shook her head slightly. "The insurance. When the bill comes to the house for this visit, the cost, the paper trail… that will do enough."

My eyes narrowed. "Meaning what exactly?"

She looked up then. "I cannot answer that."

"Esme." My palm cupped her pale cheek before I could stop it, brushing away her tears with my thumb. "Please. Let me help you."

She shook her head, but not enough to dislodge my hand. "I cannot allow you to do that."

"I'm afraid it's too late to refuse."

"Never say that." She reached up to remove my hand, patting it gently before returning it to my side. "I couldn't bear it if Charles did something to you."

"He can do nothing to me." _Except hurt you. _ "And he could hardly object to my providing you with adequate medical care."

I waited for her to affirm my assertion, but she was silent, watching me with interest. "How old are you, Dr. Cullen?"

"Thirty-nine."

"Single?"

"And never married."

"Why not?"

I'd heard the question over the years from more women than I could count. But this was the first time it didn't sound like an accusation, the first time I wanted to tell the truth.

"My parents were married for 51 years and died within three months of each other. That kind of love… I couldn't stomach the idea of anything less. And until I find it, I am content to wait."

Esme was quiet, and I felt myself inching toward the precipice of full disclosure, preparing to confess more than she was able to handle.

Much more than I was able to acknowledge.

"I'm, uh… I'm going to order your x-ray." I turned toward the door, holding up a hand at her protest. "You just let me worry about the bill."

"I cannot allow…"

"I cannot allow you to suffer without respite." My voice was sharper than I intended, and I sighed. "Forgive my tone, but Esme… I am asking you not to tie my hands completely. There is so little I can do without your consent. Please don't refuse me this."

Her bottom lip trembled, and I forced myself to remain by the door. For if I took her in my arms now, I would never let her go.

"How can I repay you?" She sniffled around the words. "My wages at the diner fill my gas tank and little else. And if I access my cards, Charles will…"

"Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?"

She blinked at me, brushing her knuckles beneath her eyes. "Yes."

"Then give no further thought to the bill, okay?"

A genuine smile touched her eyes. "Okay."

"Do I need to fetch Rosalie to guard the door?"

"No, I'll be good." She held up two fingers. "Scout's honor."

"You were a Girl Scout?"

"Senior Gold Award-winner and Grand Mistress of cookie sales."

"I would have gladly bought your wares."

She looked down, her lashes kissing her cheeks as they pinked. "Well I'm still a Scout at heart."

My eyes flew to her face as fire licked its way through my veins. I didn't trust myself to speak again, and she didn't look up, so I mumbled something about Jacob and the x-ray and got the hell out of there.

She was the patient, but I was experiencing acute heart failure.

—W.Y.F.—

The x-ray revealed no broken bones, thank God, as I would not have been able to deliver that news with believable neutrality. The soreness would fade with time, as would the defensive cuts on her hands.

But the bruise on her face required stitches. I knew that at first glance but had yet to invent a proper way to tell her. She barely tolerated my inspection of her left side; tending her facial wound would be out of the question.

But the idea of someone else touching her, of anyone else bearing such intimate witness to her pain filled me with an excruciating blend of jealousy and protectiveness. Though in name she belonged to someone else, it was futile to deny her hold on me, useless to feign indifference.

I was caught.

And so ensnared, I returned to her room, knocking softly before entering. She was curled on her right side in the dimly lit room, her hand resting beneath her cheek. Jacob must have returned with some blankets, for she was cocooned in a warm pile of them. Closing the door behind me, I tiptoed toward the bed, grateful for the chance to observe her undisturbed.

How angelic she was, Sleeping Beauty in the peaceful flesh. She could have fallen asleep on my shoulder as we sped toward the coast for the weekend. By the fire in a cottage as I read from her favorite novel. In my arms in our bed after spending the night worshiping her, body and soul.

I snapped myself out of it, swallowing the wave of lust crashing over my foolhardy head.

_She belongs to another._

_For now._

Those two words bubbled up before I could tamper them down, and I could not deny how they buoyed my hopes and gave me rest. My mind reminded me of the moments before—her admission of trust in both word and reaction to my tender touch—and I held them fast, tucking them deep into my soul where no subsequent event could dislodge them.

I refrained from brushing the hair from her face and settled for a soft sigh. Caressing her cheek in my mind, I crept soundlessly out of the room and knocked again with more force.

"Ms. Platt?"

"Yes?"

_Adorable even in drowsiness. _

"I noticed the light was off." I cracked open the door. "May I come in?"

"Of course." She covered her yawning mouth with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry I dozed off."

"Not a problem." I turned on the light, charmed as she blinked herself awake. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." Her smile suggested as much. "Thank you."

I waved her off, unable to keep the corners of my mouth from lifting. "Don't thank me yet."

"Why?" She eyed me suspiciously. "Are you grabbing the thermometer and Vaseline?"

I barked a laugh as she colored and looked away. "I cannot believe I just said that."

My smile could have eclipsed the sun. "It'll be our little secret."

"Another one? You've already got my plans to overthrow the Columbus oligarchy, the hospital bill, and now this. I need to do something for you in return."

I had the sudden urge to fiddle with the pen in my pocket. "That's not necessary."

"It is." Her sincerity made me look up. "For me."

Our eyes met, teeming with things we could never say, and I swallowed hard. "There is only one thing you can do for me."

"Name it."

Most of my immediate answers were too selfish to voice, so I settled for the one my conscience could live with. "Be safe."

A dozen emotions flitted across her face, and I thought she might order me out of the room or demand I summon Rosalie.

Instead her eyes welled up again, and the tiniest spark shone through their tears. "I will try."

I swallowed hard and looked away, determined to be content with that answer.

For now.

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**I had slightly different plans for this chapter, but Carlsme's connection could not be delayed. **

**How are we doing out there? Look for the next chapter early next week... it'll be your Christmas present! xoox  
**


	5. Chapter 5 Meddling Mrs McCarty

**Disclaimer: Everything Twilight belongs to Madame Meyer. But this plot? All mine!**

**Happy New Year! I expected to update two weeks ago, but since Christmas, my husband and youngest daughter have spent quality time in the hospital, and I'm still recovering from whatever's going on in my body, rendering me mind-weary. These last few weeks have been eventful to say the least! **

**I realize we are well beyond Christmas, but I hope you continue to enjoy the ride. Assuming you're still here ;)  
**

* * *

**WANTED: YOU, FOREVER**

**A Carlsme Christmas Tale**

**Chapter 5: Meddling Mrs. McCarty**

**Carlisle's POV**

I concluded Esme's exam with as much detachment as infatuation could muster. Though silent during the stitching of her facial wound, she touched her cheek when I finished, blessing me with a smile so soft it broke my heart.

Determined not to push my luck or her boundaries, I asked Jacob to bring Rosalie back. As I prepared to leave, Esme reached for my free hand. Clasping it without a word, she met my eyes, the moment delicate as a trembling bird. And as it stretched and enveloped us both, there was no more doubt.

I was hers to command.

"Thank you, Carlisle." It was the first time she'd used my first name, and the thrill coursing through my body was nothing short of decadent. "I will not forget your kindness tonight."

"It was…" _The least of what I want to do. _"…my pleasure, Esme."

"I…" Her eyes dropped, watching as I caressed the back of her hand with fingers I hadn't realized were moving. "This is so… I mean, it's just…" She sighed, and I ceased in my selfish enjoyment of her skin. "I don't know what to say right now."

"Don't say anything." I cleared my throat of its emotion, though too late for her not to have noticed. "I… It's fine."

"No, it isn't." She shook her head, the caramel waves dejected in their sway. "It is anything but fine. But I don't know how…"

"Knock, knock!" Rosalie paused a moment before easing open the door. She avoided eye contact, surveying the room as if contemplating renovation, and we used the reprieve to downshift our faces back to neutral. "What's the verdict, Dr. Cullen?"

Her tone was polite but serious, and I responded in kind, explaining what my examination revealed. Her relief at the lack of internal injury disappeared when she saw the stitches, though she hid her anger from Esme. Her eyes met mine over her friend's bent head, and I read her thoughts as surely as if she'd spoken aloud.

"_I want to kill him."_

I nodded without hesitation, my professional vows paling in comparison to the protective flame ignited by my angel's presence. She deserved to be surrounded by everything pure and beautiful, by light and loveliness always.

And she was married to a demon who used her as a heavy bag.

Having reached my emotional limit, I invented an urgent consult on another case, nodding apologies as I left the room. Rosalie's voice followed me out, and as I turned the corner, she called my name.

"You have nothing to feel guilty about."

"Don't I?" She read me like a children's primer, but I still hated myself. "She's married…"

"To a man who doesn't deserve her." Rosalie's tone forced me to meet her eyes, their violet hue black with fury. "I don't know what she told you, and it is not my place to speak on that. But I have not seen her this relaxed in six years." She paused, letting the words sink in. "She's in a hospital on a cloudy spring night getting her face sewn up, and she's radiant, looking as if she's skipping through wildflowers at the height of summer. "

The image of Esme in a flora-filled field, her sun-kissed hair swirling in the breeze flooded my mind, and a smile split my face before I could stop it.

"And I think I know why."

I'd forgotten about Rosalie until she spoke again, and as I prepared to protest, she raised her silencing hand. "I don't know anything for sure, Dr. Cullen. But I pray you're the man I think you are, the one with the patient persistence she needs."

She turned and walked away, leaving me pinned in place. The echo of her words and my tacit promise not to worsen things for Esme kept me from calling in a favor with a deputy friend and asking him to stop by the Evenson house.

Or escorting her home at the very least.

But nothing could stop me from fleeing the hallway the minute Rosalie was out of earshot and taking the stairs two at a time to my third floor office to Google one Charles Evenson.

I was familiar with the name and his reputation in business, even had a few colleagues who trusted him with their retirement and insurance matters. But never in a million years would I have connected that shrewd, standoffish man with the sweet-faced angel he called his wife.

It seemed a cruelty of which life should be incapable.

As Wikipedia began to delve into his personal life, I closed the browser. I wanted to know it all—where they met, how she chose him, why she stayed—but not this way.

I wanted to hear it from her lips.

With this goal in mind, I arrived at the diner exactly twelve hours after Esme's discharge. I had no idea where we stood, what she wanted from me. But her fumbling final words plus the voided ban on my visiting her here suggested her willingness to see me again.

It was enough. For now.

As I pushed open the diner door, the sizzling scents of sautéed onions and peppers danced in my nostrils, making my mouth water. Perhaps I would order something this time, give myself a legitimate reason to linger beyond the subpar coffee. And superb company.

The lunch rush was in full swing, so I grabbed the first empty spot I could find at the counter. Sandwiched between a burly construction worker and a pinstriped exec wearing too much perfume, I prayed my angel would show and make my discomfort worth it.

As if summoned by my heart's desire, she soon burst through the double doors at the far end of the restaurant. Twelve hours may as well have been an eternity, so profoundly I'd missed her. Though separated by a long counter and circumstance, I finally relaxed again, comforted by her presence alone.

She was soon lost to me in the crowd, but I bided my time, waiting for the sea of bodies to part and grant me a glimpse of my personal sun. But when the tide turned and I could see once more, my dream mutated into a waking nightmare.

He was here.

The bastard was actually here.

I craned my head for an unobstructed view, unable to look away. She smiled as she set his plate on the table, fishing two straws from her apron pocket with one hand. She nodded to something he said, her full lips moving in reply, and to a casual observer, there was nothing amiss. Nothing to see there but a server attending a customer.

But I was no casual observer.

And I saw everything.

Even had I not memorized his face during my internet investigation, Esme's body language would have identified him in an instant. Her fingers gripped the tray as if a shield, keeping it between them at all times. Though her smile never wavered, it was devoid of warmth and never reached her eyes. He watched her possessively, the lines in his face fixed in displeasure with an arctic hint of derision along the edges.

And all the way across the room, I was steeped in her humiliation.

It was bad enough he existed, bad enough he had the right to invade her sanctuary whenever he pleased. But for him to come here and demand she wait on him the day after putting her in the hospital, in front of the very people who attended her there…

It was a slap to her other cheek.

It was behavior befitting a subhuman creature.

It was not to be borne in my presence.

I was rising from the stool without consciously deciding to do so, my shaking fists balled at my sides. I didn't know what I would do or say, how I would justify interrupting his meal or defending his bride. But with a good number of steps between them and me, I was counting on divine intervention to do its holy work. Steeling myself, I expelled a steadying breath and prepared to face my enemy.

But before I could plant my foot on the ground, a heavy hand clamped on my shoulder, pushing me back down. I tried to turn and face my assailant, but his grip was too strong. Soon a rumbling yet gentle voice bent to my ear, and whispered, "I understand the impulse, pal, but you don't want to do that."

The effrontery of this person was rivaled only by his ill-placed self- assurance. I didn't know what he thought he was doing, but it was the opposite of helpful.

Esme needed me.

"You don't know me." He was wasting my time. "Or what I want do. So get off me. Now."

"Let me take a guess: You want to march to that rear booth and rip him to shreds for a shitload of reasons, starting with his showing up today of all days. And though you don't want _her _ to see that side of you, you think that would be better than her seeing any side of him. Am I right?"

His dead-on assessment unnerved me such that I dropped back to the stool, my quest for vengeance briefly forgotten. The world seemed to spin around me, and I found myself grateful the mystery man at my back didn't release his hold.

"And I may not know you like my Rosie does," he said as the blonde warrior-slash-waitress appeared in front of me with a small smile. "But I know we all want the same thing."

"And we won't get it if you go all Rambo on his ass right now, no matter how much he deserves it." Rosalie set a coffee mug on the counter, popping her gum. "Drink."

At her command I did just that, the steaming liquid purging my recklessness from the inside out. The weighty presence behind me soon disappeared, and I looked up in time to see the man I understood to be Emmett McCarty wink at his wife as he returned to the kitchen.

She blew him a kiss then went to attend a few customers at the other end of the counter. I glanced at the far table again, relieved to find my nemesis alone, aggrieved to have missed Esme's departure.

"She's in the back." Rosalie reappeared, order pad and pen at the ready. "_He_ wanted some clam chowder to go."

I didn't know what to say to that. I didn't know much of anything for sure anymore.

Except one. And it was terrifying.

"Do you read the paper?"

Again I'd forgotten Rosalie was there. "What?"

"The paper, _The Seattle Times_." She leaned forward, scanning the laminated menu with pursed lips. "This. Fills you up without indigestion or locking your bowels. Oh, and it's great for breakfast if you can't finish it all."

I blinked, unable to follow her train of thought. "Okay."

"No one reads the paper anymore." She took down my order, snapping the menu shut and pulling it away. "But she does. Not the whole thing, see. Just one particular section."

She scribbled something on the notepad, nodding as someone called her from somewhere behind me. "Decaf's on the way," she called back, earning an affirmative reply.

Setting the order pad directly in front of me, she grabbed the green-handled coffee pot behind her and set off. As I read what she wrote, the three words roared in my brain, underscored by more than the insistent lines she drew beneath them.

"_CLASSIFIEDS: MISSED CONNECTIONS."_

The kitchen doors to my right opened, and my caramel-haired angel floated through them carrying a small brown bag.

Clam chowder, no doubt.

And though our eyes met for less than a second, it was long enough to tell me the truth.

I wasn't the only one caught.

Rosalie reappeared a moment later, her knowing eyes twinkling as she tore off the top page of the pad, folding and tucking it into her pocket. "Every day, like clockwork."

—W.Y.F.—

Mrs. McCarty may have been right about the open-faced roast beef as a digestion-friendly option, but it was impossible to tell.

My stomach was a fluttering mass of knots.

Learning of Esme's secret habit was like being gifted with a glimpse into her tender heart, and it filled me with pain and admiration. I ached to quiet the arid cries of her neglected soul, to be her balm in Gilead.

But how could I do that, knowing she belonged to another?

Rosalie and her husband supported my involvement, encouraged it even. But their complicity was no moral stamp of approval. They might be able to live with it, but could I?

Could _she_?

Esme's interest in me, though obvious, was also ambiguous. She never finished her sentence last night, and as we had not occasion to speak in the diner, I had no way of knowing what she planned to say. For all I knew, she was about to give me a polite-but-appropriate brush-off, as her marital status would preclude anything romantic happening between us.

Her marital status would preclude anything romantic.

Preclude anything romantic.

Hmmm.

I rose from my perch at the kitchen's island, pacing the floor. Esme was a married woman, but she was also a person.

And a person was allowed to have a friend.

A kind, amusing, platonic friend.

Yes, this friend might want more.

Want… need… crave…

But this friend had the discipline and sensibility to be what Esme really needed right now.

A loyal friend who expected nothing and could be anything.

As long as it served her pleasure.

And so resolved, I gave myself permission to reach out to her the safest way I knew how.

In the _Times_.

And ran head-first into my next dilemma.

What in blue blazes was I going to say to her? And how could I address it, whatever it was, to her, from me, without compromising us both?

The question kept me awake and distracted all night, and I gave up three dozen times, vowing never to think of her again. Then my soul would threaten to shatter in my chest, and I'd sober up and start again.

I wanted to convey sincerity without undue sensuality, passion without pressure. I wanted to give her something to think about all day, something to incite the addictive banter seemingly common to our every encounter. Most of all, I wanted to make her smile and feel less alone, if only for a few lines of black and white text.

I considered snippets of sonnets, familiar passages of famous literary texts, and even a few supportive lines from the Old Testament. But I found myself flipping directly to Song of Solomon, I closed the Good Book, ranting and repenting.

I pressed the heels of my hands against my eyes, frustrated in every respect. I should not have needed someone else's work to speak to my unavailable beloved. I should have been able to honest with her, to show her my truth. For if I could not be myself on paper, then I did not deserve her.

Platonically or otherwise.

It was nigh unto dawn the following morning when the right combination of words finally came to me. And as I dialed the newspaper from my unlisted home number, I prayed I was in time to make the evening edition.

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**Sorry for the cliffy, but the chapter was getting long and this was the best place to stop it based on what happens next. What do you think?**

**Ps – ALWD and TPE readers, don't despair. I'm working on them next! xo**


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